


Festering

by Zaniida



Series: Open Chapterfics (MCU) [6]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Brooding, Contemplating Genocide, Contemplating Murder, Fantastic Racism, Gen, Mind Games, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-10 06:59:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18655306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaniida/pseuds/Zaniida
Summary: You will pay for having dared to put yourself above true warriors of Asgard.As if Loki were not, himself, true and a warrior andof Asgard.  (As if he’d ever had any say in that last one.)  As if he weren’t fighting harder than any warrior among them, sacrificing all that he had and all that he was—even his ownmind—in service to a higher cause.And tonight it could have all been for nothing, he thought savagely, the rage roiling up within him with nowhere to go.  (Not yet, anyway.  He’d be able to use it soon enough.  It was the only tactic that could win this war.)





	Festering

**Author's Note:**

  * For [astolat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astolat/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Chaos War](https://archiveofourown.org/works/243244) by [astolat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astolat/pseuds/astolat). 



> This'd be the second piece inspired by the fic that pulled me into the fandom, _Chaos War_ by astolat. Since she's also the one who wrote [Dangerous If Unbound](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1206946)—the fic that pulled me into _Person of Interest_ —I have her to thank for two fandoms, now, and almost the entire fanbase that I've amassed due to my writing here, and all the friendships I've made and the blessings that have come along with my time on AO3.
> 
> This is just an introspective piece, Loki's point of view after getting attacked by Hothur. Angst wallowing for a plot purpose! I love it.

_Better all of us should die and Asgard perish in fire than this Jotun cuckoo should rule us!_  
_Very well, Jotun freak. While the war lasts. And when it is over, you will pay for having dared to put yourself above true warriors of Asgard_.

* * *

Standing in his chambers, trembling with rage that he no longer tried to hold in check, Loki let it fester: his _entirely justified_ resentment at Hothur’s _utterly_ predictable act of treason.

He called up the fear and vulnerability of just moments ago, of being taken unaware so easily: the clench of his stomach as he’d spotted the net, just barely in time, so that its numbing strands wrapped around his arm instead of the rest of him—not exactly a chance of escape, but a chance to hold them off for those few brief precious seconds. If they’d aimed a little better, or if he hadn’t reacted as quickly as he had, it would have been over; he wasn’t even sure that he could have called Thor’s collar once the magic-blocking weave had found its mark.

And _damn_ his brother, anyway, damn his oblivious optimism and _everything_ that it implied about the disparity between the two of them, built up over a good thousand years of mismatched expectations. Thor, who was standing just outside the door, _hopefully on guard for once_ , and probably making that face like some forlorn puppy whose master had forgotten to feed it… Thor looked around at the people of Asgard and saw friends and comrades, allies and defenders of the realm, and he was right; Loki looked at the same people and saw would-be assassins just waiting for the opportunity to strike him down— _and he wasn’t wrong_. As tonight had proven all too clearly.

Even at the height of Thor’s arrogance and short-sightedness, even leading them headlong into war, he had been and ever was the golden child, their beloved prince; _he_ would have been safe walking the halls. But even the day after a victory such as they’d had on Reykjardals, Loki enjoyed no similar protection—and yet Thor took his bodyguard duties to be a _joke_.

When Hothur had put the lie to that notion (a bit later than Loki had expected, honestly), Thor had come to Loki’s aid and put the man in his place in the _strongest_ terms, prepared to kill him if— _when_ —he refused to give in. ( _Loki had nearly decided to stand aside and let it happen, to relish the awareness that at least one of his enemies could never threaten him again. Of course, he’d let his more pragmatic side take hold: People who were predictable would be far too useful in the days ahead._ ) But Loki wasn’t fool enough to think that his brother had finally grasped the disconnect between their worlds.

How could even Thor be this blind? Even _knowing_ that Loki was hated by most, and loved by none save family (if even them). Even hearing, repeatedly, the treasonous murmurs from the lips of his own friends. Even though Thor’s _first and only impulse_ , upon hearing what Odin intended, had been that selfsame repulsion: Had he not argued against Loki’s leadership for nearly a quarter of an hour, calling it madness, lunacy—telling Odin that he’d lost his mind?

All of that, and Thor _still_ believed that the warriors of Asgard would never truly rise against their appointed king. As though they hadn’t done _exactly the same thing_ the first time that Loki—still reeling from layers of shock after having his entire world uprooted and watching his father collapse right in front of him—had been handed Gungnir and told that the kingdom lay in his hands.

At that point, having done nothing wrong (a man was dead a man was _dead_ ), he’d still found every hand turned against him (for good reason _they couldn’t know_ ). Within the first hour of his reign, no fewer than five of his subjects had turned to treason, including his father’s most trusted ally, the very man who should have been his most loyal supporter (he knew _he couldn’t have known_ ).

On nothing but suspicion. No evidence, simply betrayal ( _it’s not betrayal if they were never on your side to begin with_ ). Nothing but loyalty to Thor above all reason, a loyalty that Loki had spent centuries yearning for, until finally he’d been forced to conclude that such loyalty would never be in support of someone like _him_. The revelation of his true nature had, at long last, given him some clue as to _why_ , except…

 _Jotun cuckoo_.

 _Jotun_ **_freak_**.

Sinking down onto the bed, Loki stared at the fireplace and let himself burn with that injustice as well. Because he _wasn’t_ that different from the rest of them—not noticeably, not enough to warrant the ostracism. What set him apart was temperament, far more than nature; he could take his lumps with the best of his peers, and hold his own in combat (even without magic). Compared to the Aesir his own age, he wasn’t significantly slower, weaker, or less resilient, nor did he show any want of tenacity.

And his skillset, though unusual among the Aesir, was _from_ the Aesir. His magic might pull its strength from the ice in his veins, but he’d learnt the fundamentals from Frigga; the frost giants despised healing spells and barely tolerated the other kind. And they had no love for trickery: Loki had picked up that trait from tales of Odin’s earliest adventures, from the way that Odin had used guile to best even the strongest opponents he’d faced.

But the key to winning this war lay in other skills, far less obvious.

Father or no, Odin had taught him patience and long-term planning, and impressed upon him the will to go to whatever lengths were necessary to achieve his ends, along with the wisdom to subordinate any specific details in service to the ultimate goal. Even his pride and his desire for revenge _must be_ subordinate, though he’d nettled most of the warriors into hating him long before he’d learned to master that part of himself.

From Frigga, though, he’d learned something even more valuable: the trick of stepping back from the obvious and looking below the surface to discover what was truly going on. Unlike Thor, Loki could play out the likely obstacles ahead of time, and map out any number of routes around them, including a few that made defeat work in his favor; that wasn’t Odin’s way _or_ Frigga’s way, but it had been built upon their shared foundation.

Which was, of course, the only reason that he’d been able to grasp the true nature of the shining ones, and determine a possible way to defeat them. Still in exile, he’d considered it impossible to put into practice—right up until that stunning, glorious moment in the throne room, when he’d realized, with perfect clarity, what Odin had in store for him.

Small wonder he’d laughed. The secret weapon in this war had turned out to be the one that everyone overlooked—including Odin himself, who had unexpectedly placed him on the throne, not due to any recognized virtue in himself ( _he_ knew his worth there, as Odin did not), but simply because Odin the Allwise had run out of other options.

Much as Loki desired the throne (no, not even that: simply to prove that he was _worthy_ of the throne, equally as worthy as Thor), he knew full well that he was hardly a stable choice for a king; whatever misgivings he’d held over his brother’s coronation applied fourfold to him. The furious self-doubt that had been whirling about in his brain since he’d first watched his skin turn blue… it had only grown more powerful, more gnawing, over the years. Yet here he was again, thrust into power with little choice but to attempt what _no one_ thought him capable of.

It did not matter. Finally he was in position to make use of the information he’d gathered, the ideas he’d been refining during his exile… and they were actually bearing fruit, evidence that his seemingly insane conclusions were far from meritless.

And it _grated_ on him, the awareness that he couldn’t explain his findings, not even now that they were validated. Who could he confide in? Even Thor would think him mad, if Thor could manage to wrap his mind around the idea to begin with.

And if anyone _did_ believe him, what then? They couldn’t _help_ him; the battle took place, moment by moment, within the twisting confines of his mind. Loki clung to sanity using a variety of mental tricks (including the little joys he got from tormenting his brother), but it wouldn’t take much to tip him one way or the other, to hamstring his ability to wrestle his own mental landscape into shape and destroy what precious hope they had of _any_ sort of victory.

The long-term victory was far from assured, but at least they’d seen some short-term wins. The first and only significant victories that Asgard had seen since the war began. _Loki_ had handed that to them.

 _Jotun cuckoo. Jotun_ **_freak_**.

Even when he’d _done everything right_ , had acted _wholly_ in Asgard’s best interests without any thought for himself—indeed, _actively suppressing_ any contemplation of the recompense that he’d surely receive for this, except when he needed to kindle the flame inside himself to its full fury, remind himself that nothing Odin would offer was worth _this much_ aggravation—even then, men like Hothur would rather see Asgard _burn_ than accept Loki on the throne. Even for a moment, perhaps a few months. Was it truly so hard to wait until Odin returned to them?

Would it not be satisfying enough to watch Loki forced to hand Gungnir back to his father, and fade into the background yet again? Not even Thor would ever consider him worthy of holding the throne after Odin died.

 _You will pay for having dared to put yourself above true warriors of Asgard_.

As if Loki were not, himself, true and a warrior and _of Asgard_. (As if he’d ever had any say in that last one.) As if he weren’t fighting harder than _any warrior among them_ , in a battle that saw no respite and no quarter given. The warriors could pull back after a while, bind up their wounds, cheer the minor victories, or even refresh themselves with Idunn’s apples in the midst of combat, but none of those options were open to Loki; the weariness and damage built up over time, untouched.

Putting himself _above_ the rest of Asgard? As if he weren’t sacrificing _everything he had_ , for a kingdom that loathed and despised him. The safety of his own person, and the freedom to relax, instead of being constantly aware of his own vulnerability. The freedom to play tricks randomly for his own enjoyment, instead of to a purpose. The peace that he managed to sink into, rarely, while far from Asgard and deep in his studies, able to forget (sometimes for days at a time) that he was and wasn’t Aesir, that Odin was and wasn’t his father.

Even his own _mind_ had been surrendered to the cause. Thor might think him mad, on account of his actions being inscrutable and seemingly contradictory, but he’d fought his way _out_ of the madness, _years_ ago, and nowadays he was _nearly_ sane. The transformation wasn’t complete, but it was getting there… and yet a good chunk of that progress was going to fall by the wayside; there was no other way to win.

All that he _had_ and all that he _was_ , he had abandoned for the moment, in service to a higher cause.

 _And tonight it could have all been for nothing_ , he thought savagely, the rage roiling up within him with nowhere to go. (Not yet, anyway. He’d be able to use it soon enough. Soon enough.)

Vaulting to his feet again, he resumed pacing. Had he been pacing before? These sessions started to bleed together, after a while, all the times he’d spent hours pulling up every last detail of his whole miserable life just trying to steel himself for the necessary course of action, a course where the shining ones would feast and he, Loki, would have paved the way.

Tyr’s beard, it wouldn’t even have been _him_ this time. If Thor had wandered just a bit further—if he had resisted the collar’s tug for a few moments longer—then _Hothur_ would have managed to take Loki down, and Asgard with him.

Because there wasn’t a man among them, _not one_ , who could take command in Loki’s place… not for this. Not a man who could employ the tactics that Loki had developed to fight this war. Even if he’d explained the theory, even if they’d _believed_ him, there was not a man in Asgard, however clever or strong-minded, however devoted to their survival, who could pull it off. _Especially_ Thor, straightforward lunk that he was. The ones who loved Asgard could never have planned for its destruction; the ones who could have managed such plans could never have pulled themselves back from the brink the way that Loki had, over and over and over again, starting the very night he’d taken the throne.

Ones like Hothur could, of course, manage to be utterly devoted _idiots_ , and bring the kingdom to its knees through their own accursed _pride_ , but to actively plan to betray it? Impossible.

No other could walk the razor-thin edge that he was walking between love and hate, between victory and utter disaster. And there was no other tactic that could win this war.

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure if there will be just one chapter left, or two. I had meant this to be a one-shot, but it got over-long, so I split it. It's meant to take place entirely within a single scene, one night's ruminating, so it shouldn't bleed out into more active fare.
> 
> I'll consider the tags a little better later.


End file.
